


Not to Feel

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9678041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: Two weeks after Elinor's death, Bernie returns home from work to find the woman she loves slumped on the shower floor.





	

Bernie hadn’t realised how much she had wanted, how much she had needed to get back to the daily grind of surgery. Blood on her fingers, organs in her hands. That familiar rhythm of slicing and suturing. Except the rhythm’s is off – she’s alone in theatre, without anyone opposite her – and it’s like a heart with only one beat. The other absent. Lost. The remaining one, stuttering on.

 

She arrives at Serena’s with aching bones. Jason is out tonight, around Alan’s. It’ll be good for him to get out of the house. The air inside is heavy with grief and, some days, it’s like trying to move through mud the silence is so thick. Full of unsaid things. Full of questions, unuttered, because there are no answers. What now? How do they even get through this?

 

What is she, Bernie, meant to do? What can she do? These past weeks, she feels like she’s done nothing but stand by and watch the beautiful and bright spark in Serena’s eyes swallowed by complete blackness. Done nothing but stand by as the woman she loves suffers an agony there’s no anaesthetic for.

 

And there’s no organ to remove. No bone to set straight. No bleed to find and stop. No open skin to stitch shut. There’s nothing Bernie can do.

 

Bernie turns into the living room and sees that the surfaces are empty. Serena must have binned the flowers, rounded up the cards and stashed them away. Out of sight. There’s petals strewn across the rug. A few scattered on the coffee table. A photo-frame on the dresser tilted the wrong way, an ornament knocked on its side. Bernie spots the note Jason has left her, before she a chance to notice the missing vase that usually stands in the centre of the windowsill.

 

Jason keeps a watchful eye on Serena. Bernie hadn’t asked him to, but he knows she appreciates it. That she finds it reassuring, most days. The note tells her that Serena was still in room when he went out at three. Had been in the most of the day. She didn’t eat lunch like yesterday. And she’s been drinking.

 

Bernie calls out Serena’s name as she moves into the kitchen. Red wine stains the countertop.

 

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?

 

Serena. Last night. Drinking after dinner. Sat next to Bernie on the sofa. Bernie telling her that perhaps she shouldn’t have another glass. Serena saying that Bernie never minded before. Neither of them mentioning what the before is. Serena pouring herself another glass. A smile creeping across her lips, strange and terrible.

 

“How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?”

 

Bernie reaching for the glass before it can reach Serena’s lips. Holding it tight.

 

“Serena,” Bernie, voice soft as the snowfall, before taking the glass from Serena, “it won’t help anything.” Bernie putting the glass on one side and turning back and pulling Serena closer to her. Serena leaning in to her and sobbing into Bernie’s shirt.

 

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?

 

Serena not seeing Bernie’s eyes, flitting all around the room. Not finding anywhere to land. Bernie not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to do. Bernie hugging Serena tighter and tighter.

 

After dinner. Last night. Serena. How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?

 

The red wine stain on the kitchen countertop. The bottles she knows are missing from the fridge.

 

Bernie runs. Turns out the kitchen and up the stairs. Shouts Serena’s name. Gets no answer. Her hands shake. Struggle to turn the handle of the bedroom door. Open it on the third try. Her heart hammers against her ribs. Blood rushes in her ears. She sprints past the empty wine bottles on the floor. Pushes opens the bathroom door. Finds the shower door open and Serena slumped on the shower floor, knees to her chest, eyes closed.

 

Bernie yells her name. Crouches down next her. Puts her hands on her shoulders. Gentle, but firm. Says her name. Gentle, but firm.

 

“Bernie.” Serena’s eyes open.

 

Gasping from the run, terror still running in her veins, Bernie’s eyes dart over Serena’s body. Her hands follow suit, patting her down. Checking that’s she okay. That’s she safe.

 

“I broke the vase,” Serena says, dull and flat. “That’s all.”

 

She shows Bernie her hand. The cut that the shower has washed clean from blood.

 

Bernie checks over Serena again. “Have you taken anything?”

  
“What?”

 

“Have you taken anything? Drugs, medicine, pills. Serena.”

 

When Serena doesn’t respond, Bernie lets her fear get the better of her. Raises her voice.

 

“Serena. If I check the – “

 

“I haven’t taken anything,” Serena snaps. Bernie has never been more relieved to hear her anger.

 

“How much have you drank?”

 

“Can’t remember,” her voice is faint. Barely a whisper. Tears form in her eyes.

 

“The water’s burning hot.” Bernie finally registers it pounding on her skin. She is on her knees, leaning forward into the shower. Her hair is drenched. Water runs down her back, soaking through her shirt just as it has Serena’s clothes. She’s half-dressed. Barefoot, in trousers and a bra. The water’s scorching and her eyes stare past Bernie, unfocused, uncaring.

 

“Serena,” Bernie says, she cups Serena’s face with her hands, “let’s get you out of here.”

 

“I wanted . . .” She chokes out a sob. “I wanted . . .”

 

“I know,” Bernie says when Serena can’t get the words out. “I know.”

 

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?

 

Serena finally looks at her, properly. Eyes red-rimmed and shadowed by grey. Bernie almost wants to look away. She can’t stand the emptiness she sees in Serena’s pupils.

 

Bernie eases Serena up and to her feet. She steps in the shower and turns off the water. Serena clutches at her and Bernie clutches back. For a moment, they stand together, shivering in the shower, clothes dripping. For a moment, they hold each other and Bernie whispers into Serena’s wet hair. I’m here now. I’ve got you. I love you.

 

-

 

The cut on Serena’s hand is not as worse as she thought. Bernie treats it with the supplies from the first kit in Serena’s bathroom. Doesn’t want to leave Serena even to just go down to the kitchen so fetches her a glass of water from there too. In the bedroom, Bernie unpeels Serena’s sodden clothes from her skin. Strips her own. Fetches towels and bathrobes.

 

Serena pushes Bernie’s hands away when she goes to tie the terrycloth around her.

 

“No, I want – “ She kisses Bernie, short and chaste. “I don’t want to get changed . . . I . . . “

 

“Serena, I don’t think you’re – “

 

“No. I just want you to . . . I just want to feel you . . . against me.”

 

And Bernie knows, again, what she wants.

 

They crawl under the covers of the bed, exhausted, and Bernie pulls Serena close. Until there is no space between them. Until they are pressed as tightly together as the pages of a book. Skin to skin. Serena’s back against her front. Bernie presses feather-light kisses to Serena’s shoulder. She doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what else to do. She knows, tomorrow, something must change.

 

Her arm settles around Serena’s waist, her hand clasps Serena’s. Bernie listens to Serena’s steady breathes fill the room and presses her fingers over Serena’s wrist. Feels the pulse beneath.

 

Wrapped within Bernie’s body, Serena falls asleep. Bernie never does.


End file.
